I Will Not Fall
My Fall TO Grace…
Posted: January 20, 2012 in UncategorizedTags: boring classes, church caretaker, fall to grace, presbyterian church, smoking cigarettes, venice florida
My Fall TO Grace…
By: Beth Raver
10 Jan. 2012
I grew up in the church. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t go to church with my family as a child. I still have my first Bible from 1968. When I was around 12, my mom got a job working at the Venice-Nokomis Presbyterian Church in Venice, Florida, as the church caretaker. I loved that church. It was the coolest in town, because it had a parking area among the pine trees where people could come and park their cars, stick a speaker on the door like a drive-in movie, and listen to the sermon in their PJ’s if they wanted to. I don’t think they have that anymore, but in 1973, it was totally cool!
Fast forward a couple of years. I’m 15-16 now. I’ve been going to Youth Group every Wednesday, helping my mom after school, vacumming the sanctuary, had free run of the forbidden “organ room” where all the huge pipes were, sang in the choir, and even played bells. We were the “Serendipity Ringers.” Life was good. I loved my church and my God. Then, I started 10th grade and smoking cigarettes in the girl’s restrooms, just for the hell of it, ‘cause my friends were doing it too; and I was kind of a wallflower, so it made me cool by association. Then, we started skipping classes and heading to the beach. Smoking some cigs and getting some sun, sipping Coors that I have no idea who bought, because we were all under age. What’s a few hours away from boring classes, anyway? We were still good kids. Just a little bored, mislead. Okay, so a few beers, smokes; relatively harmless stuff for teenagers to experiment with.
But, it was the 70’s, man! Smoked my first joint with my best friend, and thought, “Wow! I love weed!” Still doing the church thing, being good. I never really got into trouble as a kid, because my mom was scary when she got pissed, and could throw a shoe around a corner and nail you in the head. Seriously.
Fast-forward another few years. I’m 17, and though I’m still going to church, I’m not in the choir anymore. No more Wednesday night Youth Group. Smoking pot in my bedroom, in the middle of the night, hanging out the window so my mom can’t smell it. Drinking beer BEFORE school. Showed up at church service one Sunday, reeking of weed and liquor, and sporting a Hoover-sized hickey on my neck, wearing the clothes I had on the night before, and still drunk. Plopped into the last pew and basically slept through the whole boring sermon. Not cool. (Insert mom flipping out, here…)
So, a year later, 1979, I meet this guy, and it was ON! He was hot, new in town, and we met my first night working as a bartender at ABC Liquor’s, in the Penguin Lounge. It was a big circular bar that rotated, so that when you made a drink and turned around, the person was in a different spot! Long story short, we blew out of Venice, moved to the Florida Keys, and lived like there was no tomorrow. Snorted coke, smoked, drank, popping qualudes, uppers, downers, you name it. (No needles though, that’s nasty.) We were married in 1981, and had a son soon thereafter; now living in New Orleans. Party City, USA! By this time, I hadn’t even THOUGHT about God in years. I was young, out on my own, working, had lot’s of friends, partied every night, and it was cool. Not that it really was, but it FELT cool.
Three years into that relationship and I was sick of it. Controlling, violent, and psychologically punishing describe it pretty well. I only stayed because of my son, and was trying to finish college so we could leave and support the two of us. Fifteen years later, I was still trying to get away. I finally left him and my son, (who he wouldn’t let me take), and moved out; filed for divorce after 18 years. End of that ugly chapter of my life. Still ticked off at God.
So, I’m sitting in Algebra class a few months later, and the teacher walks in. It was Rick. He was wearing jeans and a button-up shirt, cowboy boots, and a baseball cap with Taz on it. Not the wrestler, the REAL Taz, from Bugs Bunny. My heart dropped when I saw him; he was so cute! Now, my being in his class wasn’t just the normal “I signed up and went to this class.” Nope. I never take the easy road. I went through three awful teachers in as many weeks, before getting into his class. I told the head of the math department I needed someone who could speak English, wasn’t teaching kindergarten, or just weird and stupid. I suck at math; I needed a REAL teacher. She promised she’d work something out for me, and I got a call the next day, saying there was a new teacher, and though the class was filled, he agreed to take one more student. Can you see God sneaking into this scene? Yep. Me, too; now. I didn’t see it then. Anyway, the last day of class, December 18, 1996, (he had ethics), we had our first date, and on August 22, 1997, we were married. Not in a church. In a notary’s back yard. It was nice and simple. Life was back to good.
We just celebrated our 14th anniversary last summer. We have had ups and downs, but my husband is the total opposite of what I was used to. He has never raised his voice to me, or threatened me. He loves me unconditionally. We were broke, struggling, and as happy as we could be. We had two beautiful, healthy children. But, I still hadn’t thought about God in a very long time. Rick didn’t go to church, and it never really crossed my mind to go back, or ask him about his beliefs. We were busy, it never came up.
March 2005…Welcome to Ft. Campbell! 9/11 had happened, the world was going crazy, Rick went from a math instructor to a soldier, in a blink, and I felt now, that God really hated me. Nothing ever went right. Nothing made me happy. All we did was struggle. I cursed God in every way you could imagine. Rick went to his first deployment and I spent the whole year smoking weed, cigarettes; drinking and going out with people young enough to be my kids. I was lost in my own ignorance. I was surrounded by people, but always felt alone. I was still a good mom, loved my husband and was an FRG volunteer, but on the outside, the smiles were just a show. I’m a very good actor.
July, 2010…Rick had just left for his third deployment, this time to Afghanistan. Things were good, we had a beautiful house for the first time in our marriage, he was an officer now, I ran the FRG, and thought I had good friends that I could depend on.
October 27, 2010. I had asked Rick and my oldest son to clean out the gutters before he left. That didn’t happen. So, I’m bored, and grew up with a carpenter for a grandad, so I knew my way around the household repair-upkeep thing. Decided to clean the gutters myself, cause they were really bad! Got the ones in the front of the house done, no problem. Good thing ‘cause it was above cement stairs.Went to the side of the house and had almost finished that one when I looked down and saw the hose. “I’m gonna wash out the gutter,” I thought. Grabbed the hose, went back up the ladder, and started spraying. I couldn’t get the doo-hickey that holds the sprayer on to work and was messing with it when I lost my balance and saw myself falling, in slow-motion, 20 feet off the top of the house. Landed on my LEFT arm and saw the shock-wave go from my hand to my elbow, and the bone in my radius shot out about 5 inches. Dislocated. Crap. Well, it didn’t break the skin, so it’s not too bad. Just thinking about someone yanking it back in to place made me shudder. Took me a few minutes to gather my thoughts, and I tried to stand up. Um, nope. My LEFT leg and LEFT foot were broken, as well. I’m thinking, “That’s just great! I’m gonna die in my yard, and Austin will find me when he gets home from school, being eaten by buzzards.” I was on my back, my dislocated arm on my chest, trying to get the attention of cars going by the house, to no avail. I was in a ditch, kind of, so, I took a deep breath, and started scooting on my back, pushing with my right foot and arm, trying not to jostle my elbow, which was squealing by now, trying to get in front of the house. It’s less than 50 feet. Took me almost 45 minutes. (Steel-toe boots, I’m not kidding. Get a pair.) Then I reached for my phone (in my LEFT pocket), and the back had popped off and the battery was out. Awesome! Another 10 minutes trying to put it back together with one hand. Thinking this whole time, “God really hates me. This crap always happens to me…blah, blah, blah.” Got hold of my friends, they came to my rescue, and by the next day, I was in Nashville, having surgery.
Physical therapy stinks. I was confined to a wheelchair and told not to put weight on my leg for 3 MONTHS. Rick’s mom came up from Florida the minute someone called her, but she could only stay a few days, and had to get back to work. Rick was still MIA on his way home when she left. That was a Friday, I think. Rick got home 9 days after I fell, so it was Tuesday when he got here. Five days alone with 2 kids under 12, and I’m not supposed to stand up? Right. I kept hearing the doc saying, “Total knee-replacement, total knee-replacement,” in my head, but I had to take care of my kids. And 3 cats. I was so heavily medicated I don’t even remember most of that week, that Fall or that Winter. All the while I’m just cursing God, talking to Him like, “What did I do? Why do you hate me? Screw you, then.” I was getting better slowly, but I still was so angry at God.
Backtrack to 2008-ish. I was skipping thru channels and came upon Joyce Meyer one day. I stopped and listened for a bit and thought, “Sure, whatever, it’s all good for you…God likes YOU…” So, for a few years I watched her sometimes when I “accidently” came across her show. Then, I started watching her ON PURPOSE. Not every day, but a bit more. So, back to 2011, I had gotten to the point where I was better, but still couldn’t drive or lift stuff, and I’d watch Joyce before I got the kids up for school every day. A year had passed since my accident, and I was still on so many meds, it was like a pharmacy in my house. Joyce was asking if anyone wanted to give their life to God, reaffirm their relationship, or begin a new one with Him. It was September 13th. I remember that. No one was home. I stood up, next to the TV in our room, with my cane, leaning on the dresser, and prayed with her. I lifted my hands up and looked to Heaven and asked God to forgive me. Tears were pouring down my face, and I suddenly realized just how amazing it was that I was even standing there. I could have died when I fell, or could have been paralyzed. God put His hand out that day, caught me, and gently laid me on the grass. It was like a heavy blanket was pulled off of me; His Spirit and Love surrounded me and filled my heart…I could physically feel the weight of my sorrows floating away. I cried for hours. I went out and bought a Bible the next day. Then, I searched the web for a Bible-oriented church in the area and found AWAKEN, and watched Kevin’s “Are You Awake?” video. More sobbing. That Sunday, my family and I were at the little church, and I never felt so relieved about anything in my life. It was like coming home. I had spent so many years feeling sorry for myself, and being angry at God that I was shaking, listening to Kevin teach. I could barely control my tears. My entire family became saved that day, and gave their lives to Christ.
The Bible says that God will never lay anything on you that He knows you can’t handle. I’ve been through a lot, at my age, so I know it’s true. Oh, and my two best friends, you remember…the ones who came to my rescue when I fell? They haven’t spoken to me since that day. I said something in my drug-induced stupor at the hospital and hurt thier feelings. They won’t tell me what I said and I don’t remember. That hurt me more than breaking seven bones. They deserted me when I needed them most, and God was there, but I just didn’t see Him. I had to realize for myself, over the past year, that I wasn’t alone, that He DID care about me. He had to slap me off my roof to make me WAKE UP! Thank You, Lord. I am awake, now, ready to serve you for the rest of my earthly days. I pray for my lost friends who can’t find it in their hearts to forgive me. I am grateful for my accident. I have found a church family that gives light to my life, and my love for You is stronger than I could ever believe possible. I became an Ordained Christian Pastor. I’m studying Discipleship and trying to live more like Jesus lived. I’ve thrown out all of my pain meds and cancelled all of my appointments and surgeries. I’ve never felt better. My doctor is amazed. I am amazed.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you that God isn’t real, or that your past mistakes will keep you from His forgiveness. That’s His thing, Forgiveness and Mercy. HE LOVES YOU, and gave His only Son for your sins. He is reaching out to you and all you have to do is say, “Yes, my Lord,” and take His hand. He isn’t going to lie and tell you it’s going to be easy; but it will be worth it. Wake up and let Him heal your pain. Scars are a sign of strength, patience, and determination. Everything old is made new through Christ.
Proverbs 3:5-6 say, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, And lean not on your own understanding; In all ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” Amen.
Oh, and, stay off the roof…I’m just sayin’!’ God Bless.
